


The Stars Became Us

by Childish_Midget, Insomnia_Productions



Category: Mulan (1998), 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Chuuya is Mulan, Chuuya is sassy, Comedy, Dazai is Shang, Fantasy setting, Fluff, Fyodor is that guy with weird eyes, M/M, Magic AU, Maybe some angst, Mulan AU, Oda Is Alive And Happy, Or not, Racial prejudice, also kajii is mushu, alternative universe, and plot brainstorms happening at 1am, corruption is a horse, dazai is An Asshole, hirotsu is a grandpa, lots of magic, sort of, stopDazai2k17, tachihara is the cricket, there's magic, this is the result of a day-long disney marathon, we're still arguing about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10098218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Childish_Midget/pseuds/Childish_Midget, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: Hirotsu looks at him through the monocle. “You would fight for the people who treat you as less than them?”“I would fight for Ane-san,” Chuuya responds immediately, and Hirotsu chuckles.“You’re a good boy, Chuuya, but there’s nothing you can do, this time. Not as long as you look like that.” He gives Chuuya a meaningful look, and then he, too, leaves.And Chuuya begins to think.· ~ · ~ ·Chuuya stars as Mulan in a fantasy rendition of the 1998 Disney movie. also dazai is an asshole





	1. Bordeaux

Chuuya stands before the steps of a large, extravagant temple, all golden trimmings and polished marble. Behind him stands a row of identically dressed men and women; the eldest children of each household in the village, each waiting to commence the coming-of-age ceremony that will decide their future. As a tradesman, as a painter, as a farmer… as an outcast. 

A man walks down the steps, head bowed but smiling. Chuuya is next. 

Slowly, he ascends the polished stairs. Inside the door, a young woman in a beige shawl greets him, ushering with her notebook as she guides him down a narrow hall. She leads him into a wide room. Along the walls, chairs have been set up, each housing a member of the Council. In the center sits F. Scott Fitzgerald, the village leader. He will judge Chuuya’s worth, today, and his judgement will determine whether Chuuya may be considered a part of the village. Fitzgerald beckons him closer. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he states with a smirk that says Chuuya should be very much afraid, and gestures to the bucket of water in front of him. “Impress me.”

Chuuya nods. Eyes trained on the bucket, he focuses his mind on the smooth surface of the water, on each individual drop. Slowly, the water ripples, and then rises up and out of the bucket. A sphere of it hovers in the air. Through it, he can see Fitzgerald’s blurred face, impassive. Chuuya begins to shape the sphere; a little longer up here, a little thinner over here… within moments it has taken on a vague form. Chuuya freezes it, and then begins work on the hovering ice. When all is complete, he lowers his eyes, and a small ice statue of Fitzgerald follows their path to land at the man’s feet. Fitzgerald picks up the statue and smiles. 

“Interesting. But I’m sure you, son of our village’s most  _ esteemed  _ war hero,” a quiet snicker passes through the room, “could do much better. Yes?” 

Chuuya’s eyes harden, and he gives a stiff nod. Lowering his head so that the brim of his hat shadows his face, he allows himself to smile. Chuuya places his hands together and creates a soft but blinding light that washes over the room. When it fades and the Council members can see again, it takes them a moment to locate him. 

Fitzgerald looks up at the man standing upside down on the ceiling, clothes perfectly in place, and gives a low whistle. “Impressive,” he drawls. “I would expect nothing less.” His gaze sharpens. “If you would return here, now, we will set magic aside and move on to the next task.” 

Chuuya drops soundlessly onto his feet and waits in silence as a long wooden table is set between him and the Council leader. On it, an attendant places a glass of red liquid. Fitzgerald motions to it. 

“Taste,” he says. “Tell me what it is.” 

Chuuya doesn’t know what this has to do with coming of age, but Fitzgerald always has been an elitist snob, and, hey, Chuuya’s not about to complain about free wine. He lifts the glass to his lips. 

“Wait.” Fitzgerald smirks. He has a very smug and self-important smirk. Chuuya dearly wants to put  _ him  _ on the ceiling. “You may only smell it.” 

Now, this is just cruel. Chuuya bites back his suffering and appraises the scents rising from the glass. After a moment, he sets it down and states, “Bordeaux.” 

A flash of surprise passes over Fitzgerald’s face, gone as soon as it appears, and Chuuya resists smirking himself. But the smug look quickly returns as Fitzgerald signals to his attendant. She takes the wine away—Chuuya watches it go with longing eyes—and returns with a teapot and several cups to match. 

“Compared to what you’ve done already,” Fitzgerald smirks, “this should be child’s play.” 

Chuuya nods, although something in the Council leader’s eyes unsettled him, and lifts the pot.

_ He’s done all right, for a foreigner.  _

Chuuya stiffens. The same voice laughs softly, soon joined by another. 

_ He’s been trained for this. Don’t think for a moment that this is genuine. _

Grip tightening on the pot, Chuuya begins to pour the first  cup. 

_ No, I suppose not. Foreigners could never grasp our customs.  _

_ He won’t pass, will he? I couldn’t image… one of them…  _

_ No, no, there’s no need to worry. Even the worst strays can be trained to roll over, but that doesn’t mean they’ll ever win the dog show. One of them will never be considered one of us. _

Chuuya is on the third cup, now. He can feel Fitzgerald’s eyes on him. Scrutinizing. 

_ You must be right. Still, the fact that he’s allowed to come here at all… what has the world come to? _

_ It’s all her fault, that Kouyou, picking up foreigners like him. She should have left him where she found him, if she had any sense of responsibility.  _

The pot trembles in Chuuya’s hands, the tea splashing slightly as he pours the fourth cup. 

_ This is what happens, you see? If she had just settled down with a nice local man and had a nice local child like she was supposed to, instead of going gallivanting off to battles…  _

_ He’s just the same. I heard he used to get into fights with the other children every day…  _

_ Like mother like son, I suppose. She should never have passed the ceremony, either—  _

The pot shatters. Tea explodes out of the broken china, splattering Fitzgerald’s white suit and polished floor. The whole room falls silent.

“This suit cost a  _ thousand _ —”

“Don’t,” Chuuya says quietly. “Don’t… ever… speak about Ane-san that way.” His voice rises as he spins in the direction of the voices. “After all she’s done for you—for this village—this  _ country _ —” 

“Do not speak out of place.” Fitzgerald’s sharp voice cuts through him like a knife. Chuuya stops. Turning back to the Council leader, he takes in the shattered pot, the tea dripping down the table. 

_ Oh, shit.  _

“You see?” the voice behind him sounds smug as others around it hum in agreement. “Just as I told you.” 

Chuuya does not pass the ceremony.

 

* * *

 

 

“Chuuya?” 

He is sitting under the carnation tree, idly pulling the yellow petals off a fallen blossom, when she returns.

“How did it go?” 

He doesn’t answer for a long moment. 

“Chuuya?”

“I’m sorry.” It’s soft, barely audible, the wisp of a sound, but she hears it and her face crumples. 

“Oh, Chuuya, what happened?” 

“I broke the teapot,” he mutters. 

Kouyou kneels beside him. “Why?” 

“I didn’t mean to.” Dragging his eyes away from the shredded flower, he looks at her. “They were talking about you… they were insulting you. I couldn’t just keep quiet and listen to them say those things—” He stops and lowers his eyes. “But, it was my fault. I should have controlled my temper. I’m sorry.” 

Kouyou lifts a hand as if to comfort him—and horns sound in the distance. The sound is deep and rich; these are the Emperor’s horns. These are summons to war. Kouyou’s eyes sharpen as the horns sound thrice more. Everyone in the village knows what this means—an enemy has appeared, and now each family must send one member to fight. 

Kouyou stands. Chuuya stands with her. 

“Ane-san, you can’t! You’re still injured from the last battle, you need to  _ rest _ —” 

Kouyou brushes him off. “I am a soldier, Chuuya. If my emperor calls, I will answer.”

“Ane-san…” But Kouyou walks silently away, leaving him alone in the garden. “Ane-san!”

“Leave her.” Chuuya turns to see an old man with a monocle leaning against the tree. 

“Grandfather…” In the distance, the gates to their estate open. Chuuya can hear muffled voices; the emperor’s advisor must be giving Kouyou her summons. “You know she shouldn’t go.”  

Hirotsu smiles. “She is stronger than you think.” At Chuuya’s betrayed look, he sighs. “Yes, I know. But I am too old, and you… they would not allow you to take her place.”

“But I’ve lived here all my life… this country is the only home I know. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to fight?” 

Hirotsu looks at him through the monocle. “You would fight for the people who treat you as less than them?”

“I would fight for Ane-san,” Chuuya responds immediately, and Hirotsu chuckles. 

“You’re a good boy, Chuuya, but there’s nothing you can do, this time. Not as long as you look like that.” He gives Chuuya a meaningful look, and then he, too, leaves. 

And Chuuya begins to think.

 

* * *

 

 

Seated in front of a mirror, lit only by a single candle in the night, Chuuya focuses his mind on his reflection. He takes in the pale skin, the red hair, the blue eyes—all marks of a foreigner. Closing his eyes, he mutters a charm, and when they open, he looks down at tan hands. His hair is dark, now. Hopefully his eyes are the same. A glance in the mirror reveals his true appearance—Chuuya makes a mental note to avoid reflective surfaces, and blows the candle out. 

He knows where Kouyou keeps her armour, so it isn’t hard to find. On his way out, he stops by her room to take the scroll given to her by the emperor’s advisor—her summons to war. Asleep, without the worry lines creasing her forehead—worries about him, he knows—she looks just as beautiful as the day she found him. That day, left behind by his father in an unknown country with no food or shelter, she seemed like an angel, descending from her horse to speak to him. She saved him. Now, he will repay that debt. 

Chuuya fetches his horse from the stables and begins to walk. As he approaches the gate, however, he sees a figure silhouetted in the moonlight. 

“Good evening, Chuuya,” Hirotsu says pleasantly. 

“Grandfather.” Chuuya smiles. “I suppose you’ve come to stop me?” 

To his surprise, Hirotsu shakes his head. Reaching into his pocket, he draws out two strange creatures—a green cricket and a scrawny dragon the color of lemons. Hirotsu hands them to Chuuya, who gives him a blank stare. 

“This is Tachihara,” Hirotsu says, and the cricket chirps, hopping onto Chuuya’s shoulder. “And this is Kajii.”

“Hey,” says the dragon. Chuuya squints at it. 

“They will bring you good luck on your journey,” Hirotsu explains. “The cricket is very lucky, and the dragon has a knack for blowing things up. Use them wisely.” 

“Um. Thank you.” Chuuya hesitates. “I’ll… miss you. And Ane-san, of course.”

Hirotsu laughs softly and moves forward, pulling Chuuya into a hug. “You will make this country proud. I’m sure of it.” 

Chuuya hugs back tightly. It occurs to him that this is the first time since coming here that he will be leaving his village. He doesn’t even know if he will return. 

After a moment, he steps back. The moon is high; it’s time for him to leave. Chuuya swings himself onto his horse and looks down at his grandfather. “Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye, Chuuya. Good luck.” 


	2. Petite Sirah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘‘Stay out of this, Half-Pint.’’ 
> 
> Conflict, fancy coats, and a sprinkle of lemon zest on the side

The air is still over the river; not even the slightest breeze present to spread ripples across the unnaturally smooth surface. It is silent. The guardsman shifts his feet. His eyes track the movement of the stars, and he counts down the hours until his companion will take his shift. 

Beneath his tower, the reeds rustle. The guardsman yawns. There is a brief, almost subliminal flash of dark purple light. The guardsman’s companion does not take his shift tonight. The guardsman does not finish his. 

Sweeping out of the shadows, a figure in a long coat and white ushanka hat steps over their bodies and looks out, over the river. Brushing long strands of black hair out of his eyes, he waves a hand over the signal fire, watching purple flames spring up. 

“Topaz,” he calls softly, and the small boy crouching in wait hurries out and, averting his eyes, sticks the banner of the Rats into the guardsman’s body. 

In the distance, golden flames appear, dotting the mountains beyond. They have noticed him. Perfect. 

Fyodor Dostoevsky smiles to himself, and disappears into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

There are raised voices in the camp when Chuuya arrives. He lingers behind the tents, unable to pick out any coherent words amongst the angry babble. Chuuya has broken up his fair share of fights—almost as many as he’s started—but it doesn’t seem wise to get into the middle of one on his first day at the recruitment camp he could be executed for attending in the first place. 

“What should I do…?” he muses aloud. 

“Toss ‘em some lemons,” comes the emphatic voice from his pocket. 

Chuuya sighs, dipping one hand in to scoop out the yellow dragon. “Why?” 

“To see what will happen.” 

“... _ Why _ .” 

If Chuuya didn’t know better, he’d think the dragon was grinning at him. “Do it for science.”  

“No.” Chuuya shoves Kajii back into his pocket, despite the dragon’s angry yelp of protest, and fishes out the cricket. They eye each other briefly. “Got any  _ reasonable _ suggestions, Tachi?” Chuuya asks. The cricket twitches its antennae at him. Chuuya sighs. “Well, at least you’re better than him.” 

“ _ Rude _ ,” comes the voice from his pocket. “I could curse your whole family, y’know?” 

“Shut up, Kajii,” Chuuya mumbles. “I’m going in.”

Stepping out from his position behind the tents, Chuuya sees two men close to his age locked in a furious argument. One is thin, his silver hair uneven like Chuuya’s, and his tiger-like eyes, an odd mix of purple and yellow, look like they might burn up with the righteous indignation flaming within them. The other, pale as a vampire with dark hair to match, looks downright murderous. A small boy with a sunhat sits on the floor near them, watching with a blend of curiosity and caution. 

‘‘You  _ bastard _ —’’ 

‘‘Excuse me,’’ Chuuya interrupts. All three heads swivel towards him. He clears his throat and attempts to keep his accent in check.‘‘Does anyone know where the captain is?’’ 

Tiger Boy smiles slightly, a sharp contrast to his anger mere moments ago. ‘‘Sorry, we’re kind of in the middle of something.’’ 

‘‘No, you aren’t,’’ Chuuya says flatly. ‘‘You’re two soldiers for the same side in-fighting at the worst possible time.’’ 

This time, it’s the vampire who responds in a low growl. ‘‘Stay out of this, Half-Pint.’’ 

Chuuya’s fingers twitch. 

 

Ten minutes later, he stands with folded arms, glaring down at the mass of black coat collapsed in a heap on the ground. Chuuya nudges it with one boot, wiping away the blood leaking from his lip. 

‘‘Well? Are you going to keep lying there, or are you finally going to take me to the captain?’’ 

‘‘No need.’’ Chuuya looks up to see gold. More accurately, golden eyes. Or rather, eye; only the man’s left eye is visible, the other obscured by bandages. In a voice that is terrifyingly calm, the new arrival asks, ‘‘What is going on here?’’ 

The vampire is off the ground in a flash. ‘‘D-Dazai-san… we… that is, I…’’ He shuts up after a dismissive gesture from the man and lowers his head.

The man—Dazai—turns that cold eye on Chuuya, and he feels chills despite the summer heat. Glancing between them, Dazai says, ‘‘I heard from the Boss that there was a fight between soldiers under my command.’’ His voice, already cold, turns to ice. ‘‘Because of you, we’ve lost our dinner, and we have to cook for the rest of the unit, too. Any of you have anything to say about that?’’ 

Tiger Boy exchanges a horrified glance with the sunhat kid. The vampire keeps his eyes on the floor, but his teeth clench and he looks on the verge of collapsing at the captain’s feet and apologizing until he runs out of breath. 

Dazai’s gaze shifts again, and Chuuya can feel those dark eyes boring into his soul. Looking up to meet them head on, he forces himself to calm down. In his best imitation of Kouyou’s accent, he says, ‘‘It was my fault. I interfered in something that didn’t involve me, and I threw the first punch. I should have controlled my temper. I apologize.’’ 

Something akin to curiosity flickers across Dazai’s face. ‘‘You take full responsibility?’’ 

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘In that case, will you bear the full of the punishment?’’

Chuuya does not hesitate. This is the second time he has let his temper get the better of him at a crucial moment. ‘‘Yes.’’ 

Dazai nods and looks away, and when he turns back to Chuuya, his eye is softer and the color of chocolate. It’s significantly less scary; Chuuya can feel the collective relief spread through the group. 

‘‘I haven’t seen you before.’’ 

‘‘I only just arrived. Sir,’’ he adds hurriedly. 

The captain waves him off. ‘‘Dazai is fine.’’

‘‘Dazai,’’ Chuuya repeats cautiously. ‘‘My name is—”

‘‘Don’t need it,’’ Dazai interrupts. ‘‘I’ve already decided to call you Shortie ~ !’’ 

“You—!” 

“Anyway, since you’re new, I should tell you about the challenge I’ve set my unit,” Dazai ploughs on, completely ignoring Chuuya as the vampire and Tiger Boy both rush to hold him back. He smiles, but it isn’t a kind smile. “It’s simple. Steal something from me. Anything. If you can do that, you will have my respect.” 

Chuuya shakes the others off and nods. “Sounds easy enough.”

Dazai just smiles. “There are over one hundred soldiers sharing this camp. I would suggest you get to work.” His expression hardens again and he gestures to the three other men. “Atsushi, Akutagawa. Pair training again. Come with me.” Tiger Boy and the vampire visibly flinch, but trudge slowly to either side of their captain, casting dark glances at each other around him. “Kenji, direct Hat-Rack to the kitchens.” Before Chuuya can react to the nickname, Dazai is walking away, black coat swishing dramatically. 

Chuuya watches him go, the two young soldiers tagging reluctantly behind. They’re barely three meters away when the vampire’s—Akutagawa’s—coat jabs Tiger Boy in the side. Atsushi’s forearm turns into that of a tiger and he punches the other in the shoulder. All of this occurs in silence. Without even turning around, Dazai claps once, sharply, and both soldiers leap three feet into the air, yelping in unison. The rest of the walk, at least as far as Chuuya can see, passes without incident. 

Chuuya is still staring after them with a mix of confusion and fascination when Sunhat Kid—Kenji—springs up from the ground and beams at him. 

“Okay, then, Mr Hat Rack—!” 

“ _ Chuuya _ ,” Chuuya corrects quickly. “My name is Chuuya.” 

“Chuuya, then,” Kenji repeats, not missing a beat. “To the kitchens!” 

Pulling his hat lower over his eyes, Chuuya sighs and follows the boy through the camp. Somehow, he gets the feeling that this is going to be a very long day.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun is beginning to set when Chuuya trudges back from the kitchens—for the, what is it, fifth time? It has only been a week since training began, yet his body already feels numb—a welcome absence of sensation, given the burning soreness of the first day. Chuuya has gotten into more fights here than he ever did as a child, but, in his defense, it isn’t  _ entirely  _ his fault. 

It’s the  _ captain _ . Chuuya has long since befriended Atsushi and Kenji, even earning Akutagawa’s grudging respect after taking the blame on that first day, but he has yet to win the captain’s favor. Which is fine, of course - the man’s a slave driver, in all honesty, and Chuuya has no wish to befriend him. But Dazai isn’t just cold towards him; no, he seems to revel in making Chuuya’s life a misery. 

Now, Chuuya’s not saying that Dazai did a background check on his weaknesses solely for the purpose of dedicating the first day to object transmutation - Chuuya’s worst magic subject - but it simply cannot be a coincidence that he’s somehow managed to focus their training on everything Chuuya cannot do  _ on every other day as well _ . 

‘‘Ah, Chuuya, welcome back,’’ Dazai calls brightly as Chuuya arrives at their training grounds. He’s standing with that damn coat billowing around him dramatically - seriously, did anyone ever tell this guy that sleeves have a purpose? - while the rest of the group kneels in front of him, each focused on an apple placed on the ground. Chuuya dies a little on the inside when Dazai adds, ‘‘You’re just in time to join us!’’ The evil aura radiating from the captain is all but tangible; Chuuya shudders as he takes his place before the remaining apple. 

‘‘All you have to do,’’ Dazai explains, ‘‘is turn it into a different fruit.’’ 

_ Shit.  _ In an attempt to hide his scowl, Chuuya lowers his head to look at the apple - only to discover that it is no longer an apple, but a plump lemon. From the inside of his pocket, he hears a manic voice loudly whisper, ‘‘I took care of it!’’ 

Chuuya blinks. 

‘‘Chuuya ~’’ Slowly, Chuuya looks up to meet Dazai’s eye. It’s golden. ‘‘You should know by now that simply switching the apple out for another fruit won’t work in my squadron~’’

‘‘N-no, I -’’ 

‘‘One hundred push-ups.’’

‘‘But I didn’t -’’

‘‘One thousand. Drop.’’ 

Cursing him under his breath, Chuuya drops into plank position, but before he can begin, he feels a weight settle on his back. Chuuya’s body freezes. 

‘‘Come on,’’ Dazai says pleasantly from his seat atop Chuuya’s back, opening up that suicide manual he carries everywhere and turning the page. ‘‘We haven’t got all day~’’ 

Gritting his teeth, Chuuya begins. He really, really hates this man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO GUESS WHO FINALLY PULLED THEIR SHIT TOGETHER 
> 
> spoiler it wasn't Childish Midget >.>
> 
> Anyway, we've been insanely busy lately (seriously fuck the IB), but we've worked on it in increments and, after bickering over it at lunch time for... two?... weeks... we've _finally_ finished the chapter (^-^); 
> 
> Petite Sirah is apparently a grape used to make spicy wine, which we chose because things are... heating up...? Tbh i have no idea I just thought ''let's name this chaptere after spicy wine because chuuya's angry'' and Midget said ''okay'' so here we are
> 
> Next Chapter: iiiii'll make a maaaaan out of youuuuuu (aka, lots of salt, both from chuuya and from midget and i as we desperately attempt to write a montage in words)


	3. Manzanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chuuya suffers

_ “Odasaku…”  _ The sound of the captain’s voice bounces off the walls of the cave, the high-pitched whine causing ripples to appear in the puddles on the floor. He’s been sitting in here with Kenji, Atsushi, and Akutagawa for nearly two hours, the four of them entirely focused on the task at hand: to block up the leak in the cave’s ceiling. Normally, this would take mere seconds, but this task is just another of Dazai’s twisted punishments—this time in penance for their collective failed attempt at stealing his socks—and each of them is only permitted to transmute one molecule of air at a time, until they’ve created and placed enough rock to block the crack. It’s taking an excruciating amount of time—and the longer the ceiling continues to leak, the larger the puddle grows. Chuuya has done his best to avoid getting near it without arousing suspicion, but it’s only a matter of time before the puddle spreads too far for him to avoid. If any one of these men sees his reflection, even the most hazy glimpse in the shallow water, it’s all over for him. So, yes, Chuuya needs that leak blocked, and he needs it blocked  _ now. _

...It’s just that it’s impossible to concentrate with Dazai’s constant whining from the mouth of the cave. 

_ “Odasaku,”  _ the captain repeats, addressing the older colonel sharing their camp, “you can’t leave!” 

Oda Sakunosuke sighs. “I’ve been called to the frontlines. It isn’t a matter of what I can and cannot do; I have to go.” 

“ _ But _ ,” Dazai insists, “if you leave, I’ll be all alone!”

“You’ll have Kunikida.”

Dazai makes an odd choking sound somewhere between scorn and horror. “Kunikida? You’ve got to be kidding me. That guy’s got a stick so far up his ass it couldn’t be taken out with seven hours of intense surgery!” 

“I heard that!” Another voice joins the first two, and Chuuya hears Akutagawa let out the slightest, irritated sigh. The water ripples again as Kunikida’s angry protest ricochets through the cave. “Oda-san, as much as I hate agreeing with Dazai and as much as I understand the importance of the Emperor’s instructions, I must implore you… do not leave me with this man!” 

“You’ll be fine,” Oda says dismissively. “You’ve only known him for a few months. I’ve been taking care of him for years now. I could use a break.” 

“Mean! You’re both so mean!” Dazai complains.

There’s a brief silence. Chuuya is almost certain that Kunikida and Oda are both casting pointed looks into the cave, where the group is not even a fourth of the way to completing their punishment. Dazai laughs. 

“I’m building their character.” 

“You’re a sadist, is what you are,” Kunikida mutters under his breath. 

“Maybe, but you signed up to work with me. Are you a masochist, Kunikida~” 

“Please leave this facility.” 

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid~! Being the general’s son, and all.” 

Chuuya hears a curious, almost inhuman sound of pure rage, and then a series of footsteps receding in the distance. 

After a moment, Oda speaks again. “You have your subordinates.”

Dazai puffs a breath. “They’re all useless.” 

The pitch and volume of his voice are perfectly set to reach the center of the cave, echoing off the circular walls for what seems like an age before the tones fade. Kenji’s upbeat smile droops slightly. Atsushi frowns, and Akutagawa looks caught between crying and committing premeditated murder. Chuuya just wants this day to be over. Standing up, he conjures a slab of rock to fill the space, blocking the leak, and, picking up his hat from its perch on a stalagmite, walks out of the cave, brushing past Dazai as he goes. 

As he walks, he hears Oda sigh. “I wish you would be kinder to them, Dazai. I have a feeling that you would like them.” 

Chuuya doesn’t catch Dazai’s response, not that he cares to hear it, but for a moment, just before he passes out of earshot, he thinks he hears Oda add, “You and Chuuya-kun would make a good team.” 

Safely out of view, Chuuya sticks his tongue out, face crinkled in disgust. “No way,” he mutters to himself. “No way in hell.”

 

* * *

 

 

Regardless, Oda is gone by the next morning, despite Dazai’s continuous complaints, and the group files into the training ground with their heads bowed and eyes downcast, certain that they will be receiving the brunt of Dazai’s bad mood now that his friend and caretaker is absent. So it comes as an earth-shaking and rather unsettling surprise when Dazai walks in and greets them not with his usual brisk orders, but a smile. 

“Good morning, squadron,” the captain greets brightly, chocolate eye crinkling into an expression that looks almost warm—or would, if it didn’t look so terrifying. “How is everyone?”

Chuuya feels the collective tension in the air as he and the others exchange puzzles glances. 

“Um… fine?” Atsushi ventures. 

Dazai’s smile widens. Everyone in the group takes a step back. “That’s good,” the captain says, clapping his hands together, “because today we’re going to start your  _ real _ training.” His expression sobers rapidly. “We’ve been at war for nearly a month, and so far you’ve done nothing but strengthen your magic and duel each other. None of you know what a real fight looks like. So, today, you’re going to fight me.” 

Chuuya feels a pit of unease form in his stomach. A glance to either side of him reveals that the others feel the same. No one has ever seen the captain fight. 

“Now, then.” Dazai’s soft voice oozes sweetness. “Who’s first?” 

Kenji’s hand shoots up, eyes shining. “Me!” 

Chuuya, Atsushi, and Akutagawa back away as Dazai nods, shedding his coat to step onto the training field. Before any of them can blink, he’s rushing forwards. Kenji leaps back, the ground shooting up around him. He seems to be attempting to form some sort of wall, a barricade against the captain, but Dazai steps right onto it, letting himself be carried upwards. In the next moments, Chuuya sees Dazai in the air—and then he’s behind Kenji, one hand on the boy’s shoulder. The wall crumbles. Kenji spins around, eyes wide in shock, and Dazai’s kick sends him flying across the field before Chuuya can take a breath. Beside him, Atsushi gasps. 

“Next,” Dazai says quietly. 

“Wait a second!” Atsushi protests. “What about Kenji?!” 

“In battle, you won’t have time to worry about your friends.” When he turns to face them, his eye is icy gold. “But thank you for volunteering yourself.” 

Atsushi’s irises tremble, but he lets out a slow breath and clenches his fists. Transmuting his arms and legs into those of a tiger, he leaps. 

A few minutes later, the Man-Tiger is lying on his back on the ground, blood leaking from the side of his mouth. Akutagawa fares no better when he takes his turn; his coat is all but rags by the time Dazai is finished with him, and he can barely stand. 

“I trust you all have figured out my ability by now.” 

Chuuya and Akutagawa nod mutely. Everyone is born with a natural talent; Akutagawa’s clothing manipulation, Atsushi’s shape-shifting qualities, Chuuya’s control over gravity. It seems strange that they’ve never realized it before now, but it’s clear what Dazai’s ability is: the power to nullify others’ magic. 

Chuuya smiles. Magic has been a wonderful addition to his life, but, unlike the others, he’s never relied on it to fight; not in a small town like his, where most others are inexperienced in spells and charms, and the use of the magic he’d learnt from Kouyou would be unfair. Using the strength granted to him by his ability, Chuuya leaps forward. As expected, Dazai jumps back, and Chuuya, thinking back on the cave punishment, condenses the air around him into an invisible wall, bringing himself to an abrupt halt. By the time Dazai lands, Chuuya has pushed himself off the wall, again using his ability to boost his speed. He swings as he flies, his arm colliding with Dazai’s as the captain instinctively defends against the attack. For a moment, Dazai’s eye widens: so far, he’s been casually sidestepping everyone’s attempts, not bothering to defend as he slowly moves close enough to launch a single, lethal attack of his own. Confusion, surprise, and approval flash through Dazai’s eye, and in the next moment Chuuya is lying on his back in the grass, counting the stars dancing before his eyes. 

‘‘Good.’’ Dazai’s voice floats through his mind, sounding muted and disjointed. ‘‘Your ability makes you strong.’’ There’s a pause, and the next time Dazai speaks, his voice is clearer and Chuuya can practically hear him smirk. ‘‘But you can’t beat me.’’ 

Chuuya hears laughter; sharp, brittle laughter. It takes a moment to realize that the sound is coming from him. Pushing himself off the ground, Chuuya brushes the dirt off of his clothes and straightens. ‘‘I know you love lording your magic skills over us all.’’ Facing Dazai, he smirks. ‘‘But not even Ozaki Kouyou has beaten me in a physical fight.’’ 

If Dazai is impressed by this, he doesn’t show it. He just stands there with his arms limp by his sides, watching Chuuya through that gleaming, golden eye. Chuuya attacks. 

He isn’t so quiet once they resume their fight, tossing taunts and blows interchangeably, eye glittering more every time Chuuya’s temper flares. When, at last, they pause, Chuuya takes a deep gulp of air, bracing his hands on his knees and watching Dazai through the loose hair obscuring his eyes. The captain is in a similar state, breathing heavily and covered in sweat and grass. They’ve been at it for fifteen minutes, but each has yet to land a solid hit on the other. As much as Chuuya hates to admit it, they’re surprisingly evenly matched. 

‘‘Had enough?’’ Dazai asks between breaths. Chuuya doesn’t respond, conserving energy. In his peripheral vision, he can see the rest of the group, along with Kunikida, watching him from the sidelines. Dazai notices, too, casting them a brief glance before turning back to Chuuya. ‘‘I’ve never seen Ozaki Kouyou in battle, though I’ve heard great things about her from my father.’’ There’s something in the way he says ‘father’ that sounds off, almost unnatural - but Chuuya doesn’t dwell on it as Dazai’s lips stretch into a razor sharp grin. ‘‘But I can’t imagine that she’s anyone of merit, if she lost to you.’’ 

Chuuya’s vision goes red; all sound seems to stop. There’s nothing, now, but the grass beneath his feet and the wind rustling his hair, and the synchronized breaths he shares with the man opposite him. And then the words come, and before he can process the action, Chuuya whispers them hesitantly into the air, the ghosts of some distant memory. 

_ O, grantors of dark disgrace, you need not wake me again. _

 

* * *

 

 

Chuuya is afraid. It’s been so long since he last felt like this, like a prisoner in his own body, bound in the darkness by chains he cannot see. There’s a window in his mind, and through it he can see a room. A kitchen, lit by the sun, the faint scent of eggs perfuming the air. He can see a strangely familiar woman with red hair seated at the table, a shawl around her shoulders and a mug in her hands. She turns when he approaches and smiles, the steam from the cup framing her thin face. Then she looks up, over his head, and her smile falls. Why does she look so scared? Chuuya tries to turn, wanting to look at what has caused this change, but a strong hand settles on his shoulder and holds him in place, no matter how he squirms. The woman stands and grabs his hands, pulling Chuuya away from the presence behind him. She prods him towards the next room, and Chuuya backs into the doorway, watching with a sinking stomach as a tall man steps into the light. The woman spares him only a brief glance, her eyes urging him to run, before turning to the man. She steps back, and again, until she’s caught between him and the wall. Her hair falls over her eyes, hiding them from Chuuya’s view, but he sees her mouth moving rapidly, forming words in a language he hasn’t heard in years. 

_ Pas lui, pas lui, please not him, s’il te plais, je t'en prie…  _

What happens next comes in fragments. Chuuya sees the man’s hand raised, sees it fly towards the woman’s face. He sees the walls tremble, feels the vibrations shake his bones as the house begins to crumble. He feels power coursing through him. Now there is blood on his face, warm against his skin, and the woman is lying on the floor, a red aura pulsing around her. The man is staring at him. Why is he staring? He should be helping her, but he is staring at Chuuya in horror and disgust. Chuuya feels sick. His skin feels strange. Looking down, he sees red tendrils staining his arms, the same color as the aura surrounding the woman. The man is still staring. Chuuya stares back, and then he passes out. When his eyes open, he’s in a town he’s never seen before, full of people in strange clothes. The man is there, his back to Chuuya. He is walking away. Chuuya tries to call to him, tries to reach for him, but his body screams out in pain and his vision blurs with saltwater before the world falls away from him once again. 

(There’s a moment, somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, when he sees someone else. This one, too, looks vaguely familiar; a man with brown curls framing his face, one chocolate eye creased in worry. His mouth moves, forming Chuuya’s name. But it lasts only an instant, and Chuuya lets himself topple into the darkness.)

 

* * *

 

 

Tan. That’s the first thing Chuuya sees. A dilute tan, ringed in darkness. Then his eyes open fully, and he sits up, flinching at the pain that shoots throughout his body. He looks around. He appears to be sitting in a bed in the infirmary tent, his wounds cleaned and bound. 

_ Wait a moment. I wasn’t injured this badly before… what happened?  _

‘‘You’re finally awake!’’ Chuuya startles when he hears a small voice whisper loudly at him from below. Looking down, he sees Kajii curled on the blankets over his lap. His usually bright yellow scales have faded to a mouldy off-white color, and there are dark circles under his eyes. ‘‘I thought I was going to pass out.’’

‘‘Why are you whispering?’’ Chuuya whispers back, frowning. 

Kajii glares. ‘‘Oh, I’m just fine, not exhausted at all. This is actually my natural color. Also, yes, of course you’re welcome for sustaining your disguise while you were out, there’s really no need for such praise, I really -’’ 

‘‘Sorry,’’ Chuuya sighs. ‘‘Are you okay?’’

Huffing, Kajii nods. ‘‘I saw that you were about to pass out, so I had to use my own magic to keep your appearance from reverting.’’

‘‘You can use magic?’’

‘‘’Course I can, I’m a talking dragon with a healthy diet of lemons. I can do anything!’’ He puffs up proudly, before dropping limply back on the bed. ‘‘It’s just that even simple spells very quickly deplete my life force. Keeping your disguise intact nearly cost me a kidney.’’ 

‘‘Thank you, Kajii,’’ Chuuya says honestly, scooping the dragon into his hands. He strokes the feathers crowning Kajii’s head, smiling as the dragon curls up on his palm and passes out. Closing his eyes, Chuuya focuses, and Kajii’s scales begin to regain their color as Chuuya takes control over the spell. 

Disguise restored, Chuuya sets the dragon beside himself, tucking him into the blankets, and suddenly notices a sound he hadn’t registered before. 

Breathing. 

Chuuya turns his head to the left and looks down.

_ … _

_ What the fuck?! _

Biting back a scream, Chuuya stares, wide-eyed, at the figure of the captain, sleeping peacefully beside him with the covers tossed over his waist and - is that Chuuya’s pillow he’s holding?? 

Growling, Chuuya yanks the pillow out from under Dazai’s head, scowling even more when the captain lets out a whine and looks up at him with betrayal in his eye. 

“Chuuya~ why would you do that?”

“Shut up!” Chuuya hisses. “I probably almost died just now, and you  _ stole  _ my fucking pillow! What kind of sick bastard are you?!” 

Dazai waves him off, sitting up and pulling the blankets around himself. ‘‘You’ll live.’’ He pauses, and his eye narrows. ‘‘Probably?’’

Chuuya shrugs. ‘‘Well, I don’t remember what happened… I know we were fighting, but we were at a stalemate… and then I woke up here.’’ He’s staring at his hands as he says this, but the heavy silence weighing the air draws his eyes back to the captain. 

Dazai is watching him with one golden eye, his face devoid of expression. ‘‘You said something,’’ he explains after a moment. ‘‘Some phrase in another language. None of us could understand it.’’ Chuuya flinches, but if any of this makes Dazai suspicious, the captain doesn’t show it. He continues, ‘‘Red tattoos formed on your arms and face and your eyes went blank. You attacked me, and then the others, with heightened gravity manipulation. At one point, you began forming spheres of gravitational energy that behaved like black holes when you threw them. If I were to guess, I’d say you unlocked some deeper part of your ability.’’ 

‘‘That’s…’’ Chuuya’s head is swimming. He can see a smiling woman, a collapsed house. He can feel blood warming his cheeks and hands. ‘‘That’s…’’ Taking a deep, steadying breath, Chuuya hardens his will and meets Dazai’s eyes. ‘‘That’s good, isn’t it? If I use this against the enemy—”

“No.” Chuuya flinches at the sharpness in the captain’s voice. “That ability is too unstable. You nearly died, and you nearly took the whole camp with you. If I hadn’t cancelled your magic, none of us would be here today.” He motions to the red and purple bruises flowering across Chuuya’s skin. “Take a look at yourself. Whatever this ability is, it isn’t good for you.” 

Chuuya’s eyes widen. He’s never heard the captain sound so solemn. “Are you…” No. He can’t bring himself to say it. It doesn’t seem possible. “Dazai, are you… worried about me?” 

“Of course!” In an instant, Dazai’s irritatingly cheerful smile has returned, his voice taking on that teasing quality Chuuya is so used to. “You’re our squadron’s cook! I can’t have you going crazy now, or none of us will get to eat~!” 

Rolling his eyes, Chuuya looks away. “Forget it, I knew you were just an asshole.” He sighs. “To be honest, I’m glad you don’t want me to use it.” Chuuya lowers his head and clenches his hands into fists, hoping that Dazai won’t see the way his fingers tremble. “I… remembered something. I’m not sure, but I think it was from my childhood. Something… sometime I used this power and… hurt someone I cared about. I don’t know what it was, or if it was even real, but I know that I don’t want to use Corruption again.” 

“Corruption?” 

“Oh—” Chuuya turns back to Dazai. “It just popped into my head.” 

“Hm~” Dazai stands, the blankets dropping to reveal clothes covered in dried blood. “Well, I have a meeting soon, so I’ll leave you to it.” Reaching down to pat Chuuya’s head, he grins. “Rest up quickly, Chibi, it’s almost dinnertime~” 

With that, he’s gone, disappearing through the tent flap before Chuuya can find something hard to throw at him. He wants to call out, to yell at the captain to make his own damn dinner, but exhaustion sets in, and he once again succumbs to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Chuuya opens his eyes, there’s a woman’s voice calling a name. Sitting up, he sees a silhouette outside the tent. 

“Nakahara? I’m going to enter.” 

For a moment, he’s confused—and then he remembers,  _ Nakahara _ , the name he gave them in place of the famous  _ Ozaki _ . Chuuya has just enough time to mutter the spell for his disguise before the woman enters. Dressed in doctor’s clothing, she kneels beside his bed. Eyes flitting across the clipboard in her hands, she seems oblivious of the strands of dark hair coming loose from the butterfly pin holding them back. After a moment, she sets the clipboard down and sighs. 

“You’re a very high maintenance patient, you know?” Receiving no response, she looks down at him with a faint smile, and Chuuya notices the bags under her eyes. “The captain had me up all through the night, keeping you alive. Considering the state you were in, it’s a miracle you’re still here.” 

“Thank you…” 

“Yosano,” the doctor supplies, waving him off. “And I’m just doing my job. Speaking of which,” she adds, “I’m going to need this bed for some idiot who tried to lift a mountain with his mind earlier this evening, so, if you’re feeling alright, I’d ask that you head back to your own tent.” 

“Of course.” Chuuya stands, discreetly slipping a sleeping Kajii back into his pocket. “Thank you again, Doctor Yosano.” 

“Remember to rest,” Yosano replies, and Chuuya leaves the tent. 

Walking through the camp, he enjoys the cool of the air, the breeze. He was only in that tent for a day, but it feels like much longer. Stretching aching arms, he looks up at the stars—and hears raised voices coming from a nearby tent. Chuuya is about to ignore it, tired as he is, when he hears—

“Nakahara is dangerous.”

“Kunikida, that’s why we need him.” 

Eyes widening, Chuuya’s feet wander of their own will to the source of the sounds, and he identifies Dazai’s voice as the two continue to bicker. 

“I know you have a tragically limited imagination, Kunikida,” Dazai is saying, “but  _ try  _ to think of what we can do with Corruption on our side!” 

“No,” Kunikida responds flatly. “Have you forgotten what happened? He destroyed half the camp! It took three squadrons half a day to rebuild with magic that should have taken minutes! He nearly killed everyone here!”

“But he didn’t. As long as I’m there to stop him—” 

“And can you guarantee that you’ll always be there? Always? On time?” 

Dazai’s silence speaks for itself. Kunikida sighs, and when next he speaks, his voice is low.

“We should contain him tonight. There’s no time to personally deliver him to the Emperor, but at the very least we must keep him away from everyone until this war is over.”

“No way,” Dazai snaps, voice harsh and grating where Kunikida’s is dull and expressionless. “Chuuya is—Chuuya’s part of  _ my  _ squadron, I’m not letting you lock him up—” 

“I will remind you.” Kunikida’s voice is quiet, but for once it shuts Dazai up. “You may be the general’s son, but I am the Emperor’s advisor, and I hold a higher position than both you and your father. If I feel that the Empire is being threatened, I will not hesitate to contact the Emperor and have both you and Nakahara taken in.” His voice softens. “I’m sorry, Dazai. I don’t like this any more than you do. But we have to think of the safety of the people. You know that.” 

Chuuya doesn’t hear Dazai’s response, doesn’t need to—a moment later, the captain storms out of the tent, and the look on his face says enough. Unfortunately, Chuuya gets barely a glimpse before Dazai crashes right into him, sending them both on a beeline for the ground. 

“Guh—” Chuuya sits up, rubbing his head, to see Dazai already standing and brushing himself off. 

“Eavesdropping isn’t polite, Chuuya.” His voice is quiet. 

Chuuya growls, springing off the ground to glare at his captain. “I can’t believe you. What happened to  _ it’s unstable  _ and  _ it isn’t good for you _ ? You said I wouldn’t have to use Corruption again, you said—” He cuts off abruptly, blood boiling at the sound of Dazai’s laughter. 

“You shouldn’t be so naïve, Chuuya~” The lilting, singsong quality is back in his voice and his smile holds no mirth. “Everyone in this life will try to use you, one way or another. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.” With those parting words, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the darkness with his coat fluttering behind him. 

Chuuya watches him go, feet frozen. His head is spinning; he feels heat flooding his senses. This is it, this is the final straw. Tonight, he’s going to make Dazai pay. 

One step after another, Chuuya follows Dazai into the dark. He knows what he’s going to steal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be salt but then ~~angst~~ 
> 
> (hehe... trasmute... conjure... if you haven't noticed, I've been using hunter x hunter terminology and on that note someone help me I just finished the 2011 anime and I am dead ~Insomnia) 
> 
> *hugs kunikida* Poor guy, we sort of made him seem like a bad guy in this chapter but he's really not, he's just... Lawful Good... 
> 
> also HOLY SHIT this chapter is way too long compared to the rest XD 
> 
> I have no idea how this happened, honestly... it was supposed to be short and salty and funny but then Corruption just sort of happened and I started writing about Chuuya's backstory and the next thing Midget and I knew the chapter had turned into a pit of angst 
> 
> BUT IT'S OKAY BECAUSE NEXT CHAPTER IS THE _SHIT_
> 
> ...or at least it will be when we summon the motivation to write it --" 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking to this, we really appreciate it, with our ~~nonexistent~~ messed up updating schedule. 
> 
> Comment what you think Chuuya's gonna steal~! Virtual cookies to anyone who guesses right~


	4. Petrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chuuya is queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY IT'S BEEN LIKE SIX MONTHS AHHH

Dinner ends late. Dazai is walking back to his tent, enjoying the way his coat lets him blend into the darkness. 

“Hello, Captain.” 

Dazai stops. Nakahara Chuuya is standing outside his tent, arms crossed. 

“Chuuya. What do you want?” 

“Let’s spar.” 

‘Surprised’ is not an emotion Dazai is familiar with. He frowns. “What?”

Chuuya sighs impatiently (the  _ nerve _ ) and uncrosses his arms. “We never got to complete our fight because of what happened to me. Let's have a rematch.” 

Ah. “So you're here because you're angry with me. Well, I'm not here to entertain anyone’s tantrums.” Dazai brushes past him, meaning to enter his tent, only to feel a hand close around his arm and pull him back. He's about to snap at his subordinate, but Chuuya meets his eyes and the admonishment dies in his throat. 

In all his years, he's never seen such a raw intensity. 

“I came here because, if I didn't, my mother would have to, and I know she will not survive another war.” His grip tightens, eyes narrowing. “Kunikida will have me locked up by morning if I can't prove myself worth the risk, and I can't blame him for it, but I  _ can’t  _ back down. So I don't care whether we spar or fucking  _ cook _ . I just need to know that I'll still be here and she  _ won’t _ , and you're going to help me because you want me here as much as I do.” 

He holds on a moment longer before letting go, but remains where he is and doesn't move back. For the second time in the night, Dazai is surprised. He should have Chuuya running laps for insubordination, but, strangely, there's a grin tugging at his lips. 

“Alright. Let's spar.” 

Chuuya eyes widen, his fierce expression giving way to shock, before he gives a triumphant grin. 

“Alright.”

 

.

 

 

 

Although Chuuya may not have admitted it, his anger is certainly a part of his motivation in asking for this fight. Dazai can feel it in the blows rained down on him as Chuuya abandons magic entirely for the old-fashioned approach of kicking the shit out of him. They have only sparred once before, and yet Chuuya has already become attuned to Dazai’s movements; the only reason he hasn’t killed him yet is that Dazai has managed the same. He dodges to the side as Chuuya’s boot swings toward his head and smiles. It's been a while since he's enjoyed a fight this much. 

Leaping back to avoid a punch, he grins and spreads his arms. “Use your magic, Chuuya! The enemy won’t let you—’’

He doesn’t even have the time to finish his sentence before a rock slams into his face. Dazai stumbles. Wiping a hand over the wound, he stares down in shock at the smear of blood on his fingers, but there’s no time to reflect as a flurry of increasingly larger chunks come flying from all directions. There are bruises flowering all over his body. Dazai grits his teeth, but even now he can feel a thrill running through him, his smile sharp and widening as the fight continues. 

Dazai begins to move. He need to get within touching range of Chuuya to nullify his magic, but his opponent is no fool. He’s keeping his distance, using his magic to keep a field of debris between them. And he needs it, this distance. Dazai has not been the only one taking hits; Chuuya’s cheek and arms are bleeding and there are bruises staining his skin. He’s breathing heavily - but, Dazai notes, he’s grinning, too. 

‘‘What’s wrong?’’ he calls across their battlefield. ‘‘Can’t dodge a few rocks thrown your way? You must have had such a boring childhood.’’ 

Well. That’s interesting. Dazai wonders what sort of childhood Chuuya’s had, that evading childish projectiles is normal to him. 

Chuuya’s still grinning; he doesn’t know that he’s given Dazai an idea. Because he has, in fact, had an interesting childhood. One that taught him how to ignore his own pain. 

Dazai _runs._ He can see Chuuya’s eyes widen, can see him hesitate before sending his army of rocks flying forwards. Dazai pushes forward, disregarding the injuries he’s sustaining as he closes the distance between them. He can see the moment Chuuya panics, confusion and—is that concern?—written in his expression. He only unfreezes when Dazai reaches him, but by then it’s too late. Reaching into his coat, Dazai’s hand closes around cold metal. He presses the knife to Chuuya’s neck and smiles. In the moment of calm, the peace after the war, with the only sound being their breaths in the night air, Dazai feels the extent of his wounds catch up to him, feels the blood beginning to drip down his face, the burning pain under his skin. His grip on the knife loosens and it topples from his hand. Chuuya catches him as he stumbles forward.

.

Leaning on someone half his height is difficult, but Dazai is used to discomfort. In any case, they’re almost to his tent, although it’s taken half the night to get here—in retrospect, Dazai shouldn’t have chosen a sparring location so far from the base, even if he had been hoping, just a little, to goad Chuuya into using Corruption again. 

‘‘My knight in a tacky hat,’’ he drawls into Chuuya’s ear, and receives an elbow to the gut for it. 

‘‘Shut the fuck up. I can’t  _ believe  _ you, are you fucking suicidal?’’

‘‘Yes.’’ 

His subordinate all but throws him down onto what passes for his bed in this camp and begins stomping around the tent, ruffling through Dazai’s things. 

Propping himself up, Dazai watches his progress, bemused. ‘‘What are you doing?’’ 

Chuuya halts his search and glares at him. ‘‘Don’t you have a first aid kit in here?’’

‘‘Oh, that. Of course.’’ 

Chuuya waits a moment before snapping, ‘‘Are you going to tell me where it is?’’

‘‘Why do you want it? You have your own.’’

The look he gets in return could wither a sunflower. ‘‘To treat  _ you _ , dumbass.’’

Dazai frowns. ‘‘Why?’’

For a moment, it looks as though Chuuya might combust. ‘‘Because—look at yourself!’’

‘‘I’m fine.’’

‘‘No, you’re not, you crazy bastard!’’ He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. ‘‘Just. Tell me where it is and I’ll patch you up, since I obviously can’t trust you to do it yourself.’’ Dazai opens his mouth to protest, and Chuuya lowers his voice to a dark whisper. ‘‘Or would you rather I fetch Yosano?” 

Dazai closes his mouth and points. As Chuuya nudges him over to sit on the side of the bed, now fumbling with the first aid kit, Dazai judges it safe to start talking again. 

“Why are you helping me?”

“You're our captain. We need you.” 

“Just tonight you were trying to kill me. Or at  _ least  _ put me in hospital.”

Chuuya flushes. “I wasn't—”

“You were.” 

‘‘Was  _ not _ . Now shut up, already, you’re giving me a headache.’’

‘‘No one’s keeping you here.’’

Chuuya doesn’t respond, only pulls some medicine out of the bag and motions to Dazai. ‘‘Hand.’’ He pushes the sleeve back and looks critically at the bandages wrapped around Dazai’s arm. ‘‘I’m going to change these, alright?’’ 

‘‘No. I’ll do it myself.’’ 

‘‘I wasn’t asking.’’ 

Dazai doesn’t bother arguing with him. True, he’s never let another person see underneath his bandages, but it’s late and he’s tired and in pain, and in all likelihood Chuuya will die on the battlefield on his first day and take what he sees to the grave. So he keeps quiet and Chuuya goes about unwrapping the bloodied cloth, and notes with some approval that, although his eyes narrow once the skin is revealed, Chuuya does not say a word.

For all his talk of how much he hates Dazai, he must understand that there are things Dazai doesn’t want to talk about, and he respects that. Unfortunately for Chuuya, Dazai does not possess this same courtesy. 

‘‘So,’’ he starts. ‘‘Rocks.’’

Chuuya picks up the medicine bottle and the cotton and stares at them for a moment, before soaking the cotton in the liquid and beginning to gently clean around Dazai’s wounds. He says, ‘‘I have a mother but not a father.’’ 

‘‘Ah, you’re a bastard child.’’ 

Chuuya presses the cotton down. Dazai winces. 

“Something like that, yeah. And you're the general’s son.” Dazai doesn't miss the way his eyes flicker along the unwrapped arm. 

“Something like that.” 

“You must have grown up in the capital, then.” There's a note of awe in his voice, although he is trying hard to hide it. 

“Of course.” 

“Tell me about it.” A beat of consideration, then, “Please.” 

Dazai watches him work slowly, carefully, with the cotton. This could take some time. Leaning back against the headrest, Dazai sighs. 

“It's big. More than that, it's crowded. You can't walk ten steps without running into another salesperson trying to convince you to buy some dubious elixir. And that's provided that you can find a street open enough to walk on. Usually, there's at least one fight happening on each block at any given time, along with a crowd watching, and generally a merchant with a makeshift tea stand set up next to it.” 

“Pfft—!” Chuuya’s lips pull up into a grin that shows his teeth. The cotton presses down and stings his wounds as Chuuya laughs, but Dazai finds that he doesn't seem to mind. “That's… amazing.”

“A fight everywhere you turn… yes, you would find that amazing,” Dazai responds dryly. 

“Shut up. Tell me more. Do they have theatres in the capital? What's the food like? Are the buildings tall? What do the festivals look like?”

“Slow down, Chuuya.” He cracks a grin. “You sound like the age your height implies you to be.” A pause. “Ow!—hey, no need to get violent! And, yes, there's theatre. The food is disgusting, the buildings are massive and tightly packed, and the festivals… you would like them. They're loud and colorful, and filled with all sorts of people. Not my thing, but I imagine you would—”

“Love it.” Chuuya looks up at him. “I  _ love  _ it and I've never even been.” For a just moment, his grin shifts into an almost shy smile. “Keep talking.” 

It's late, very late, but he doesn't feel so tired anymore. “Sure.”

.

The moon is low on the horizon as Dazai trudges along behind Chuuya, relying on a single orb of light to guide them through the forest. 

“Are we there yet?” he complains. 

“Now who sounds like a child?” Chuuya retorts. “Almost.” 

Dazai sighs. He's spent hours describing the capital to a Chuuya who could just  _ never  _ be satisfied; his subordinate kept demanding to know more, more, more, and Dazai completely lost track of the time until the moment he almost fell asleep. Chuuya leapt up, then, having long completed his medical treatment, and tugged him out of the tent, babbling about some special place he’d found one night. They've been walking for what is likely only minutes but feels like hours. Thankfully, his  wounds don't hurt quite as much anymore; Chuuya is a surprisingly skilled medic. Perhaps he can convince Kunikida to keep him under Yosano’s employ, as a field medic with strong combat ability. But that's a problem for later. Right now, he's more concerned with… 

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see! Just be patient.” 

“The empire has used this region as a training ground for decades, Chuuya. If there's anything worth seeing out here, they'll have found it already.”

“Not this. They couldn't have.”

He sounds certain. Dazai sighs again. 

“Are you always like this? Do you drag your little village friends out of bed at ungodly hours to wander around in the woods?”

“I don't have any friends, so, no,” Chuuya tosses back. 

“I wonder why,” Dazai mutters under his breath, and feels a rock narrowly miss his cheek. “Oi—!”

“We’re here!” Chuuya turns to him with a wide grin. “Follow me.”

They walk along the bank of a lake for another few minutes before Chuuya leads them into a watery cave. Dazai feels his socks soak with lake water and resists the urge to sigh for a third time. 

“This had better be good, Hatrack.” 

In place of a response, Chuuya’s takes his hand and smirks. “Hold on.” 

Dazai feels his feet lift off the ground. He is pulled along by the hand as Chuuya begins to walk up the wall and along the roof of the cave, into the darkness. 

“If this is an assassination attempt,” Dazai says after a good five minutes of walking, “it's a very romantic one.”

Chuuya doesn't respond, but Dazai can almost feel him rolling his eyes. Then they turn into a hollow in the ceiling, and there is light. Dazai squints as Chuuya lowers them to the floor of a cavern filled with crystals of every color imaginable. His orb of light expands, reflecting off the gems to create patterns along the walls. 

It's beautiful. 

“Told you it would be worth it,” Chuuya says smugly. 

“How did you find this?” Dazai breathes, unable to come up with a single snide comment. 

“Someone… close to me told me about it. A long time ago.” 

He doesn't elaborate further. Dazai doesn't ask him to. Together, they stand in silence amongst the shining crystals, watching the reflected patterns shift on the walls. 

.

Dawn is breaking when they finally return to camp. Dazai leads Chuuya out of the forest to see their squad already awake and waiting. 

“Dazai-san! Chuuya-san!” Atsushi scrambles off the ground as they arrive. “We were worried!”

“Speak for yourself,” Akutagawa grumbles, kicking a toe into the dirt. “What were you doing, anyway?”

Dazai opens his mouth to respond—but Chuuya pushes in front of him and smirks. 

“I won the challenge. I stole something from the captain.”

That really gets them alert, Dazai included. In spite of himself, he glances down, eyes flitting over himself to check that everything is in place. Dazai thinks back to the tent—but, no, he would have noticed if Chuuya had tried to take anything. Wouldn't he? 

“Is that so?” he asks nonchalantly, smothering his doubts under a layer of condescension.  “And what, exactly, did you steal?”

Chuuya’s grin widens. 

“Your sleep.”

.

The three days of embarrassment Chuuya endures for the implications of that statement almost help Dazai forget the way his heart skipped a beat at that smug, victorious little grin. 

Almost. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK BACK AGAIN  
> spoiler it's Insomnia 
> 
> Okay yes I know it's been like half a year since the last update... if any of you guys are still here, I'm sorry and I commend you for sticking around -_-'' 
> 
> It's just going to be me, now, I think. Midget's not really into BSD anymore. Truth be told, I've been distanced from BSD for a while, but then I was on a trip without wifi and all I could do was go to my docs and reread my own old stories and fics... and, reading through my old soukoku fics, I just fell in love with the pairing all over again, so now I'm back!
> 
> Actually, in part, I wanted to come back because SoukokuParadise left me the sweetest comment a couple months back and said they hoped I'd revisit soukoku once in a while... so, thank you, if you're reading this. You really helped me to find the motivation to continue this series. 
> 
> I can't promise frequent updates because I have a lot to figure out with this story, but I'll do my best, so please bear with me ^-^;
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chardonnay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY

After getting over the initial embarrassment— _ shut up, Akutagawa, that wasn’t what I meant! _ —Chuuya rides the high of his victory for days. His defeat of Dazai even prompts Kunikida to allow him to stay on (strictly as a travelling medic, of course), albeit begrudgingly. Not even the order to move out can dampen his spirits, and he chats with his comrades as they trudge across the terrain to join Oda Sakunosuke’s squadron. Dazai keeps the pace at the front, uncharacteristically silent as they grow nearer.

‘‘All I’m saying is,’’ Atsushi continues, ‘‘the priority of the soldier is to protect the people.’’

‘‘And  _ I’m  _ saying you’re naive, and it’s all about killing the enemy,’’ Akutagawa argues. ‘‘Which  _ does  _ protect the people, so you can’t complain, Man-Tiger.’’

‘‘I wish you’d stop calling me that,’’ Atsushi mutters.

‘‘Man. Tiger. Man-Tiger.’’ 

‘‘Man. Death Coat. Man-Death-Coat,’’ Atsushi parrots back sarcastically. 

Chuuya laughs, interrupting Akutagawa’s budding retort. ‘‘Whatever you want to call yourselves, you’re still just Vampire and Tiger Boy to me. And Sunhat Kid,’’ he adds, throwing a glance at Kenji, who smiles happily back. 

‘‘That’s cute,  _ Half-Pint _ .’’ 

‘‘Did you forget what happened the last time you called me that, Dracula? Because I  _ will  _ kick your sun-deprived ass to the moon and back.’’

‘‘You can  _ try _ —’’ Akutagawa cuts off abruptly as he bumps into Dazai, who has come to a halt. 

The group falls silent as they gather around him, taking in their surroundings for the first time. They’ve reached the camp Oda was sent to; only, there’s no camp here. Instead, the tramples remains of broken tables and ripped tents lie spread across the ground, amidst the bodies of fallen soldiers. There is not one drop of blood to be seen. 

‘‘Oh, my god…’’ Atsushi’s hands cover his mouth as his skin turns pale. ‘‘What… what happened?’’ 

‘‘Fyodor.’’ It’s a whisper, barely audible, and then Dazai is moving away from them, picking his way through the rubble. Chuuya walks behind him, and the others slowly follow. They spread out, through the camp, looking for survivors and finding nothing. 

After a while, Chuuya ducks under a half-collapsed tent and sees Dazai kneeling on the ground, a body stretched out in front of him. It’s obscured from Chuuya’s view, but he can just make out a head with dark red hair. 

A few moments pass before Dazai stands. He stops when he sees Chuuya—unusual for someone who is always alert to his surroundings—and for a moment his face remains frozen in a picture of grief. It’s gone in a flash, though, and his expression settles into something dull and detached. 

‘‘Dazai…’’ Chuuya trails off helplessly, hating that he can’t find the words to make this right. 

‘‘Yes?’’

‘‘I… I’m sorry.’’ The words feel weak, inadequate, but he can’t think of anything better. Chuuya thinks that Dazai’s lips might twitch upwards, just slightly, just for a moment—but it’s probably just his imagination, and the captain sweeps past without a word. 

‘‘Kenji, run back to base and send for the others. The rest of you, get moving,’’ Chuuya hears him bark from the distance. ‘‘This damage is fresh. Fyodor can’t be far ahead.’’

No one speaks as they continue to walk. 

.

The soft shade of lavender is comforting at a glance, but Topaz has seen his master’s eyes as he steals the life out of any man, woman, or child to oppose him, and he thinks he might have gone off the color entirely. 

From atop his perch on the large boulder, Fyodor surveys the plains beneath the mountains the purple flag claims as his own. Topaz watches him nervously, and jumps when Fyodor suddenly smiles. 

‘‘Run and tell the others, boy.’’ His canines gleam under the sun. ‘‘There’s an old friend of mine down there, and I want to give him a worthy greeting.’’ 

.

The arrow comes from nowhere. It lands at Dazai’s feet, bringing the group to a surprised halt, and explodes into a lilac mist. Chuuya coughs, waving the gas away, and follows his captain’s gaze up in the direction of the shot. On the mountain, he sees a purple flag waving. 

‘‘Fuck.’’ Dazai says, and arrows rain from the skies.

Chuuya braces himself as Rashoumon, Akutagawa’s magic-infused coat, slams up into a shield around them. The arrows explode against it but cannot get through. Nonetheless, they explode too, and within moments the air is thick and lilac. For a time, no further attack comes. Akutagawa draws Rashoumon back. 

Without the dark fabric concealing their view, the group can just about see the blue fireball hurtling in their direction. 

Atsushi screams, “Scatter!” and they split apart. 

Chuuya dives to the ground and rolls, curling in on himself as the explosion propels him further out. It does nothing to lessen the fog; if anything, visibility is worse than before. 

From within his coat, Chuuya hears a groan, and then silence; both his dragon and his lucky cricket are unconscious. 

The rain of arrows resumes as shadowy figures begin to appear in the mist. Chuuya can hear his friends’ screams, although he cannot for the life of him figure out where they are. 

In any case, he has more pressing concerns. 

Chuuya slashes wildly with his knife as shadows swirl around him, their laughter cutting through the mist. That stops quite abruptly when his knife makes contact at last, coming away stained in red. A shadow disappears from sight and the others hesitate, before swarming to him as a horde. Chuuya grins.  _ That's more like it.  _ Abandoning the knife entirely, Chuuya leaps forward to meet them head on. They’re good fighters, he’ll give them that—but, without their illusions and tricks, they’re no more than playground bullies to him. 

Honestly, he sighs to himself, he’s had better fights than this in his village. 

A cry to his right has his head snapping to the side, and he sees, through a gap in the fog, the figure of the captain, hunched over and clutching his head. And then, behind him, a shadow.

Chuuya’s feet move of their own accord.  _ “Dazai!”  _ he screams, and the captain turns—but slowly, so, so slowly. The shadow’s blade comes searing through the mist. 

_ Shk.  _

Chuuya lets out a stuttering breath, looking down at the blood dripping down from where the knife has buried itself in his chest, just next to his shoulder. There’s a blur of movement in his peripheral vision; he barely registers Dazai darting forward to slice the enemy’s neck as he falls to his knees in mute shock. 

_ Why… why the fuck did I do that?  _

The knife is wrenched out of his chest and replaced by hands, shaking him roughly. It sends a stab of pain through his shoulder, but it feels distant, disconnected. 

“Chuuya!” Someone is yelling. His name? Is it his name? He can’t tell. Everything sounds muffled and far away. The motion persists; the person shaking him blurs in and out of view. Is that the captain? He doesn’t remember.  “Chuuya! Chuuya, can you hear me? Are you alright?  _ Chuuya!” _

Then the words come. They push at his teeth, his lips, fighting to get out. Somewhere, deep inside him, he knows he can’t let them escape. A part of him screams, wails,  _ don’t say it, don’t let them out, don’t let  _ it  _ out. _ But the words are there, and they are strong. And there’s something waiting in the darkness, straining towards the light. 

His lips part, and the whispers slither out. 

_ Oh, grantors of dark disgrace… do not wake me again.  _

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at tags*
> 
> "Odasaku Is Alive And Happy"
> 
> ........welp
> 
> IM SORRY OKAY I DIDNT MEAN TO IT JUST HAP P E N ED
> 
> anyway nothing can bring my spirits down today, I got promoted in my school newspaper to being a sectional editor! It means I have to talk to people, all of whom are older than me, but, you know, details
> 
> Ahhh, but this chapter is so short! There wasn't really that much to say, honestly... although I had a lot of fun with the squad interactions at the start. "Man. Death Coat. Man-Death-Coat." is my favourite line out of all my fics and stories. forever. 
> 
> I feel like Oda's death was a little abrupt, but then, they don't have time to grieve just yet. I imagine that Dazai will take the time to grieve during the in-between moments, off-screen ~~i say in order to avoid writing oda dies angst~~
> 
> Also, I realise that some people might not know who Topaz is? I imagine most have heard of him, but I remember that he was named by a translator on tumblr, and has no official name. Anyway, just in case, it's this precious boy: http://bungostraydogs.wikia.com/wiki/Topaz
> 
> That's all for tonight, then. Thanks for reading, and see you guys in the next update!


	6. Chianti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **mmmmm watcha sAAaaAaAYYY**

_ “That boy is a threat.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “He destroyed the marketplace of the neighboring town merely because someone tried to grab his arm. And he was barely aware of it the whole time.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “They say he possesses a power greater even than that of the Gods. And more terrible.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “He is dangerous, child.” _

_ “That’s what they said about me, Hirotsu. And my Golden Demon. And they were wrong. I learned to control her… and I’m sure, given time, this boy will learn, as well. What would you have me do, in any case? Let him rot on the streets?” _

_ “Of course not. I merely want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. You will be ostracized, Kouyou. He is a threat, an orphan, and a foreigner. And you are a single woman of the warrior class in a small village on the outskirts of the country.” _

_ “...I’m aware.” _

_ “If you’re sure.” _

_ “I am.” _

_ “What will you call him?” _

_ “...Chuuya. His name will be… Chuuya.”  _

 

.

 

Chuuya wakes with eyes blown wide and a choked scream clawing out of his throat. He bolts up for only a moment before he collapses back against the makeshift bed, heart thudding in his chest. There is  _ pain _ —he’s never felt such pain. It creeps through his body, like molten steel under his skin. Whimpering, he lets his eyes close and surrenders to sleep again. 

.

 

When next Chuuya wakes, the tent is beginning to lighten; it must be dawn. The pain from before lingers, but he feels well enough to sit up. Letting out a shuddering breath, he brushes away the strands of hair falling in his eyes—and his heart stops. 

Orange. It’s—orange. 

Eyes travelling slowly to the side, Chuuya sees Kajii and Tachihara curled up on a small cushion by his side. Unconscious. 

_ Oh. Fuck.  _

The tent flap jerks open. The captain steps through. 

‘‘Dazai—’’

‘‘You’re looking good,’’ Dazai interrupts, ‘‘Ozaki Chuuya.’’ 

Chuuya flushes, averting his eyes. ‘‘I—’’

‘‘Outside.’’ It’s soft, rather than the harsh command Chuuya is accustomed to hearing. It feels infinitely worse.  

Chuuya clenches his eyes shut and takes a breath, then stands and follows the captain out of the tent. Lifting his eyes, he sees Atsushi and Akutagawa. Atsushi is frowning at him, lips trembling. Akutagawa is staring at the ground, body tilted away. The others are there, as well. Kunikida, eyes on his shoes a a crease in his brows. The other squadrons, gathered in groups around the temporary camp they’ve built. Some are looking at him, some not. All are silent. Chuuya has never seen the camp this quiet. He risks a glance at Dazai. 

‘‘Fyodor. What happened to—’’

‘‘You annihilated his army,’’ Dazai states, without emotion. ‘‘Fyodor was last seen with half the mountain crumbling over his head. He and the rest of his lackeys were buried. Our reinforcements arrived shortly after. No one on our side was hurt.’’ 

Chuuya smiles slightly. ‘‘Good.’’ 

Dazai’s eye, still trained on him, flickers. ‘‘You shouldn’t be concerned about others right now, Ozaki.’’ 

His name has never been an insult to Chuuya, but hearing it spoken now sends a stinging feeling to his heart and he lowers his eyes. 

‘‘I… I only meant to keep Ane-san safe. I knew she wouldn’t survive another war, I just—I couldn’t watch her leave,  _ knowing  _ she wouldn’t come back—’’ Chuuya breaks off, short of breath. He’s pleading, he can hear it in his own voice as he speaks, and it makes his gut twist. ‘‘Please, I—you’ve seen me fight, you know what I can do. Why  _ shouldn’t  _ I be allowed to help? I grew up here, I don’t even  _ remember  _ my home country, and I only wanted—’’

‘‘What you can and cannot do,’’ Kunikida interrupts, ‘‘is dictated by the Empire.’’ His voice softens and he meets Chuuya’s eyes. ‘‘I know you meant well, Na—, ah, Ozaki. But what you’ve done is treason. And you know the penalty for treason.’’ He holds Chuuya’s gaze for a moment longer before looking away, face twisted. ‘‘Dazai.’’ 

Chuuya turns to Dazai and his knees give out. Dropping to the ground, he stares up the gleaming length of the sword resting against his forehead. It glows blue; a bead of blood forms on Chuuya’s forehead and slowly travels down his face, but he pays it no mind. He is looking directly into Dazai’s eye. It’s golden today, that honeyed brown a distant past. 

Dazai’s eye is narrowed. Chuuya lets his widen, trying to show Dazai everything he feels—that he’s here to  _ help,  _ that he  _ has  _ been valuable these past few weeks, and they’re  _ friends _ , aren’t they? 

Dazai presses the tip of the sword harder; a second drop of blood joins the first, then another, and another still. Chuuya doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. Dazai’s eye narrows further, a flash of emotion passing through them. His face twists. 

Dazai flings the sword to the ground with a low growl, the blue glow fading from the metal. He stares down at Chuuya for a moment longer, and then he scowls and, turning on his heel, stalks into a nearby tent. 

Chuuya lets out a shuddering breath and brings one hand up to his forehead. Nearby, Kunikida wraps the sword in a cloth  and casts a pitying glance at him. Then he, too, turns and walks back into the camp. The rest of the recruits dither for a few moments, sneaking glances at him and whispering amongst themselves, before following their leaders. 

Atsushi is the first of the squadron to walk up to him. He drops to his knees in the grass after a moment of hesitation and flings his arms around Chuuya. 

‘‘I’ll miss you,’’ he says. ‘‘It’s not fair.’’ 

Akutagawa pulls him up by the collar, muttering something about dignity, but the brief look he gives Chuuya says that he feels the same. Kenji appears as they trudge away, his usually bright face closed and mournful. He silently hands Chuuya his black hat—it must have gotten lost when he activated Corruption—and then runs after the others. 

Slowly, the camp is packed up. Kajii and Tachihara are returned to him, still fast asleep. The soldiers begin the trek down the mountain, to the capital. Doubtless heading to inform the Emperor of their victory, and celebrate the death of their most dangerous enemy. A few of them cast brief glances back at him as they leave, getting in one last look of the foreigner, the liar, the traitor. He thinks, for just a moment, that Dazai stops and turns in his direction, looking back over his shoulder—but he isn’t sure. Most likely, he thinks bitterly, it’s nothing more than a figment of his imagination. 

Drawing his coat around him, Chuuya falls back into the grass, and sleep claims him in moments. 

 

.

 

_ ‘‘Chuuya!’’ Chuuya turns to see Atsushi beaming at him. ‘‘Congratulations!’’  _

_ Chuuya blinks. ‘‘What for?’’  _

_ ‘‘You’re with the captain, right?’’ _

_ Chuuya nearly chokes. ‘‘Wh-what? No! Why would you think that?” _

_ Atsushi looks at him, smiling innocently. “Well… you said you stole his sleep, right?” He blushes. “I know I’m naive… but even I know what that means…”  _

_ “Atsushi…” Chuuya groans. “I thought I already clarified that! I didn’t mean it that way… I just fought him and then we talked for a while, that’s all.” _

_ Atsushi looks dubiously at him.  _

_ “Really,” Chuuya insists.  _

_ “Are you sure? Because, honestly… you kind of act like a couple, sometimes. With all your bickering.”  _

_ “Well, Atsushi, that’s because we are.” _

_ “What the fuck?!” Chuuya spins to see Dazai grinning down at him. “We are not!”  _

_ “Aww, don’t be shy, Chuu~ya~” Dazai singsongs, still grinning madly. He throws an army around Chuuya, which Chuuya quickly shakes off.  _

_ “In your dreams, you bandaged bastard!”  _

_ “Quite right. And, as of yesterday, in reality as well.”  _

_ “You son of a—”  _

_ “Ahaha, I’ll leave you guys to it, then!” Atsushi backs away slowly, a nervous smile playing over his face. Right before he bolts, his smile strengthens and he says, “I’m happy, though. You make a cute couple.”  _

_ “What.” _

_ “Aww, did you hear that? We make a cute couple, Chuuya!”  _

_ “Shut the fuck up, Dazai. Atsushi—Atsushi get back here! Don’t you dare spread this, I’m telling you we’re not together! Atsushi!”  _

_ “Chuuya, you’re blushing~! You really do want to be with me! Chuuya. Is. Is that a knife? Chuuya? Chuuya, now, think about this. Chuuya… Chuuya! Chuuya!” _

 

.

“Chuuya! Chuuya! Chuuya! Chuu—!”

“I’m up, I’m  _ up _ ,” Chuuya grumbles, rubbing his temple. The memory fades. He wishes he hadn’t chased Dazai off, that day. Hadn’t done all he could to avoid the captain in the days following his unfortunately phrased declaration. What wouldn’t he give for just a little more time with him? With all of them. Chuuya sighs and stands up; no use dwelling on what’s already happened. 

Placing a hand on the ground, he lets Kajii and Tachihara climb onto his palm.

“I’m sorry,” Kajii says. “I couldn’t keep up your disguise… I should have—”

“It’s fine,” Chuuya cuts him off. “It wasn’t your fault, my friend. This is on me.” 

“But—”

Chuuya slips them both into his pocket, cutting off the protest, and looks down the road to the capital, where the rest of the soldiers went. Tear sting his eyes; his turns his head and looks back the other way, towards his own home in the country. He has a long walk ahead of him. 

 

.

 

“That boy was quite impressive… wasn’t he, Topaz? I would like to have him for my army.”

The boy shudders, drawing his cloak tighter around his still-trembling frame. “Impressive isn’t the word I would use, Master.” 

Fyodor barely glances at him. “You’re all right. Which is more than I can say for most of my army,” he adds darkly. 

“Sh-should we retreat, Master?” Topaz asks, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. 

“No, Topaz.” Fyodor’s lips curl up, and Topaz curls in on himself, away from that terrible smile. “We still have one trick up our sleeve, yet.”

“T-trick?”

“Fyodor! It’s been too long~” 

Topaz looks over his shoulder to see three men approaching from the shadows. One walks slowly, a slick smile twisting his mouth. His long white hair flows free, contained at the top by a headband. The second has pale blonde hair wound in a long braid. He has a scar over his eye and walks with a jaunty skip, mouth split in a wide, maniacal grin; he is the speaker. The final man trails behind them. Shorter than the others, and plumper, he has the air of a rat around him. He exudes an oily aura, not half because of his scent, and Topaz finds himself scrambling back as the man passes him. 

“Topaz, meet Master Pushkin,” Fyodor says silkily. “Our  _ trick _ .” 

 

.

 

Back pressed against a tree, Chuuya presses his palms over his mouth and tries to calm his breath and slow his thudding heart. 

_ How the  _ fuck  _ is he still alive?! _

That isn’t even his biggest problem. Listening to Fyodor’s plan chills his blood and makes it boil at once. 

Some pebbles tumble down from above and Chuuya stiffens. The voices die out after a few more beats of conversation, and he hears footsteps fading into the mountain. Chuuya hesitates for only a moment before turning to run back in the direction of the capital. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo those tg re manga spoilers though. like i dropped the manga ages ago, but. _damn_
> 
>  
> 
> Right back to the fic. I'm thinking... one more chapter, and then an epilogue, and this should be done! After six or seven months! Now all that's left is to figure out how to write the climax -__-" 
> 
> Speaking of the climax, CAN I JUST TAKE A MINUTE TO TALK ABOUT OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR BRAID BOY? bc he's been in like six panels so far and i don't even know/remember his name, but I'm _i n lo v e_
> 
> Anyway, this is another pretty short chapter, but we do get a little more backstory, so that's fun. Also, I completely forgot to add the scene where Dazai makes Atsushi think he's dating Chuuya back in the last chapter aND IT WAS SO IMPORTANT TO THE SKK I CANNOT BELIEVE MYSELF— luckily midget read the chapter and yelled at me so it's here now. better late that never i mean 
> 
> ANYWAY thanks for reading, comment if you have the time, and I'll see you... next week...?

**Author's Note:**

> midget and I marathoned like five disney movies yesterday and we started comparing Mulan to bsd characters and the next thing you know it's 1am and we have the background, setting, character backstories, and the outlines to three chapters of this weird two-in-one au 
> 
> Since there are two of us working on this, updates might be a bit... random... but we'll do our best to keep the chapters consistent. Especially since I can't wait to get to chapter three 
> 
> We based the title on 'Autumn Poem' and each chapter will be named after a wine. This one's bordeaux because, according to google, it can be either white or red—white as in the purity Chuuya tries to express in the ceremony, red as in... uh... well, refer to the teapot.  
> (rip teapot, 2017-2017) 
> 
> Also, for reference, yellow carnations symbolise disappointment and rejection. 
> 
> ...That's it for this chapter, and we hope you guys enjoy the ride~!


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